


Black, Cold Steel

by tamarieladoness



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Erik has Feelings, M/M, Protective Erik
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2275689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamarieladoness/pseuds/tamarieladoness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you find light when your heart is black, cold steel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I don't think my writing style has completely developed yet, so bear with me! I will try to make the chapters longer as this story continues, but that means each chapter will take longer to write, so I'm sorry for any long gaps between chapters! Please bear in mind that I also have a lot of school work to do, so that will also make it harder to write. Please tell me if there is anything you don't like, or doesn't work, or is grammatically incorrect!

Darkness. Never-ending darkness. How do you go on, when that is all you know? All you've ever known.

Hidden faces, grim shadows in the night. Swirling darkness that envelops every thought, every hope. Black cloaks, poison daggers. Glowing eyes that watch your every step, your every move. Inky blackness that fills your heart, your head, your soul. There is no good, only evil. Only monsters and demons, only devils and fiends.

Darkness. Crushing darkness that surrounds you, darkness that never leaves you. Murky shadows that fill every corner of every room. Wicked things that crawl across your heart, whisper in your ear. No light, no love, only darkness. How do you find light when your heart is black, cold steel?  

The moon shone bright in the midnight sky, its pale face half shadowed by clouds. The city of London was illuminated by the glowing lights of the skyscrapers, twinkling in the shadows.

In a darkened corner of the city, between two tall buildings, a man crept through the darkness. His long black cloak covered his body, his hood concealing his face. Only two piercing steel-grey eyes could be seen. They were hardened and cold, showing not one flicker of emotion.

He carefully scaled the walls of the smaller building, quickly and efficiently, as if he had done this many times before. When he reached the topmost window, he brought out a small knife from the inside of his cloak, and slid it under the window, opening it. He quickly crawled inside, his long cloak almost catching on the window. Once inside, he put his small knife away, bringing out a long, curved one in its place.

Its sharp edge glinted in the darkness, catching on the light of the moon. He slowly made his way through the room he had entered, the kitchen, and into the bedroom. On the bed lay a large, pale skinned man. He snored quietly in his sleep, his chest rising and falling in a deep slumber. His hair was cut short, raven black, and his skin was pasty, as if he had not seen much sun.

The cloaked man strode over to the side of the bed, and carefully turned the sleeping man until he was lying on his back. He brought the knife to the man's neck, resting it over the pale line of his throat. In one swift motion, he slit the skin, cutting through flesh and bone, slicing through the man's windpipe, killing him instantly. The man's eyes flickered open, sharp green, as the life faded from him.

Wiping his knife with a cloth, the man put it back under his cloak. He took out another object, different from the dagger but no less dark, and placed it on the man's chest, carefully and delicately, as if creating a piece of art.

He turned, entering the kitchen once again before climbing out the window, sparing one last glance for the lifeless man on the bed before disappearing into the night.

The clouds slowly uncovered the moon, its pale light brushing the sky with silver. But then more clouds drifted to once again cover it, plunging the sky back into darkness. The night wore on, just the same as before. The city of London still slept, the lights still shone in the darkness.

In one room, in one dark corner of the city, lay a raven haired man, as still as if he were still sleeping. But on his chest lay an object that people would come to fear. A warning for many. To most, a symbol of death. A black rose.

And so it began. Men and women alike, throats slit, with only a single black rose to put them apart from the rest. No other evidence, no fingerprints, no weapon. An invisible killer. The Black Rose, they call him, the killer in the night. A deadly assassin.


	2. Chapter 2

The bedroom was small, only containing a bed, a small bedside table and a bookshelf. Outside, the lights of London shone, illuminating the city. They flickered, their bright rays creating flecks of light around the room, a myriad of colours.

Laying upon the bed was a young man. He looked to be in his early twenties. Floppy brown hair that covered his eyes, and sinful red lips. He was small in size, thin but lean, and was curled up in tight ball.

His eyes were closed, and he slept peacefully, the blanket pushed down the bed. His eyes flickered as he slept, slivers of blue under his eyelids. His skin was pale, almost glowing in the light of the moon. He looked like an angel. So pure and beautiful. He snored softly, deep in his dreams.

A dark figure stood tall in the shadows, his eyes watching the sleeping man. As he made to step forward, a phone rang from the table beside the bed. He quickly turned back into the shadows, concealing his body. The young man awoke, blinking his eyes sleepily. He got up and grabbed the ringing phone, sitting on the edge of the bed. He put it to his ear and began to speak.

“Raven? What are you doing? It's two in the morning!” He rubbed his eyes, sighing. A muffled voice came from the phone, a soft murmuring, but it soon changed to sobbing. The young man suddenly perked up, his eyes wide, all tiredness gone from his face.

“I'll kill him! I'm coming to get you Raven, I won't be long. I promise.” He put the phone back on the counter and started to put on his clothes, grabbing some keys on the way out of his room. The door slammed behind him as he ran out of the flat. Then there was silence.

The man in the shadows cursed under his breath before slowly making his way towards the bedside table, picking up the phone that had been left behind. He quickly unlocked it, typing in the password he had seen the young man use. There were texts from the person he had called 'Raven'. One of them he took most notice to.

_He's hit me again Charles. It's getting worse. He hit me with a cane, and Mother doesn't even care any more! All she cares about is the drink. Please help me._

The floppy haired man had obviously gone to help her. He seemed like a good man. Why would he be sent to kill a good man? There was no evidence of him stealing anything, or not paying money owed, like the people who he was usually sent to kill. There had to be something wrong. No one with a good heart should die at the hands of a man with a black heart such as him. The man stood there in confusion, staring at the phone in his hands.

“What are you doing?!” He hadn't even heard the door, lost in his own mind. The young man stood behind him, his voice both angry and wary. Slowly, with caution, the cloaked man stood, turning to face the one who had just entered. Electric blue eyes faced him, full of fear. They were so wide, so large, so blue, he felt he could be lost in just them alone. They stared at each other, neither moving or making a sound.

“Charles? What's the matter?” A young woman's voice came from somewhere else in the flat, shocking both men out of their stare. The smaller man turned to speak to the woman.

“Nothing Raven, it's okay. Just go to bed, everything's fine,” He turned back to the cloaked man, eyes wary. “What are you doing here?”

“I was sent to kill you.” No emotion shone his eyes, no anger or hatred. The young man recoiled back in shock, blue eyes filled with fear.

“Wh- Why haven't you?” The taller man smiled, a predatory grin showing too many teeth.

“You seem like a good man, Charles Xavier. I don't kill good men.” He put a hand on the young man's shoulder, making him flinch involuntarily.

“What? But-” The taller man shook his head, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

“I'm leaving now. Don't try and follow me, or try to find me. It will only end in your death.” He strode towards the window, starting to climb out. He stopped, and turned back to the man in the flat.

“This is my warning. Heed it well.” On the window sill, inside the flat, he placed a black rose. The rays from the moon bathed it with light, the pitch black petals standing out against the pale white.

“Goodbye, Charles Xavier. Don't do anything that could make me have to kill you. After all, I wouldn't want to cut a pretty neck like yours.” The cloaked man threw one last smirk at the figure in the bedroom, his steel grey eyes glinting in the moonlight, before he once again disappeared into the night.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The sign on the top of the building read 'Shaw Industries' in large blue letters. The building was large and white, almost a cube, covered in glass windows. The sun reflected off them, almost blinding the man as he walked up the entrance. He wore a dark grey fedora and a grey trench coat on top of a grey suit.

He reached the front of the building, looking back once before continuing. The automatic doors slid open, revealing a bustling reception. Businessmen and women walked quickly to meetings, many on the phone or speaking to someone as they walked. Making his way through the crowds, the man walked up to reception, tipping his hat to the receptionist when she turned to him.

“I'm here to see Mr Shaw. He's expecting me.” The receptionist quickly picked up the phone and began to dial a number. She put it to her ear and waited for the call to get through. Soon a muffled voice came from the phone.

“To see Mr Shaw. A Mr...” She quickly glanced at the man, waiting for a name.

“Lehnsherr.”

“Mr Lehnsherr.” The person on the end of the line replied, and she made a noise of confirmation. She put the phone down, typed something into the computer, and then motioned for him to go further into the building.

“He'll see you now. His office.” He nodded once to her before turning and heading to the stairs that led down. He slid his hand down the railing as he walked, the smooth metal cold against his hand. He opened the door at the foot of the stairs.

On the other side was a long corridor, but the walls were seemingly plain. The lights were dim, and he had to squint to see anything. But he walked with ease, unfazed by the quality of light and the dark corridor before him.

He walked quickly to the end, where a large, black door stood. There was a sign on the front reading simply 'Shaw'. He knocked twice, short but firm. The door opened to a large room with no windows. There was one light in the centre, it's yellow light filling the room. But it was not a warm, or friendly room.

The walls were dark grey, and the carpet was a dark blue, almost black. In the centre of the room there was a desk, wooden, with a laptop on it, which was pushed to one side. On the middle of the desk there was a brown file, full of pages. There was a chair either side of it, one made of fine black leather, the other made of cheap wood.

“Classy.” There was a man standing on one side of the room, his face hidden by shadow. He stepped closer to the light. He had dark brown hair, not long but not short either. He was clean shaven, and wore a red silk shirt with a buttoned up dark grey jacket, and dark grey trousers. He looked to be around forty, but his eyes were dark blue, and spoke of years far longer than his. Shaw. His gaze was piercing, and he walked slowly, in a way that showed he had the control.

“Sit.” He motioned to the wooden chair, coming to sit in the leather one himself. The first man walked towards the chair, sitting on the edge and leaning back, crossing his legs. There was a bottle of scotch on the desk, and two tumblers. Shaw grabbed them and poured some  scotch into one glass before, before looking up at the first man.

“Would you care for a glass?”

“No, thank you.” He shook his head, still looking calmly at the other man. Shaw shrugged and put the lid on the bottle.

“Your loss.” He motioned with his hand, and a woman came in. She wore a pristine white dress which hugged her body. Her hair was tied up in a pony tail, so blond it was almost white. Her face was emotionless, as cold as ice.

She picked up the bottle and the empty tumbler, smiling tightly at Shaw. He gave her a broad grin before shoeing her out. Her eyes glittered with anger briefly as she turned, glancing at the first man before leaving swiftly. Shaw laughed, a harsh sound, before turning back to the desk, shaking his head. His faced changed to become a smooth façade, dark blue eyes showing little emotion as he looked at the man sitting opposite him, sitting up straight in his chair.

“You didn't do what I asked. I told you to kill Charles Xavier,” Shaw opened the brown file on the desk, turning to the first page. On it was a picture of the man in the flat, his blue eyes staring into the camera. He looked slightly younger in the photo. Another person was cropped out of the image, only their shoulder visible. Shaw took a sip of his scotch, swirling it around his mouth before swallowing. He placed the tumbler on the desk in front of him. “You didn't.” He leaned forwards, hands and elbows resting on the desk. “I want to know why.”

“He has done nothing. I read his file,” He pointed to the one in Shaw's hand. “There is no reason in there for him to die. He is good man. I don't kill good men.” Shaw slammed his fist on the table, and glared darkly at him.

“You do what I say, Lehnsherr. He might not have done anything that you think of as 'bad', but he knows nothing of the world” Shaw sat back in his chair, scowling. “He talks of world peace, no war, and throws his money away on charities. He's an Xavier. People notice. People support him. He's in my way.”

The first man nodded, but he did not agree.

“I wont kill him for you, Shaw. Get Azazel to do it. I refuse.”

“You refuse, do you?” He got out of his chair and walked around the desk, standing in front of the first man.

“I do.”

“No.” Shaw surged forwards and grabbed the man by the neck, cutting off his air. He pulled him out of his chair and pushed him against the wall, hard.

“You are not refusing me,” When the man made to argue, he squeezed his neck harder, slamming him against the wall again. “You are not. I am changing your orders. You don't have to kill him. Don't ever disobey me again, boy.” He spat on the ground before releasing the man, who slumped briefly before standing up straight again, sucking in breaths quietly, removing any sign that he was in pain.

Shaw walked back to his desk, sitting at his chair once again. He took another sip of scotch, swirling it around his mouth again, savouring the flavour, before swallowing. He downed the rest in one fluid motion, smacking his lips together before placing the empty tumbler back on the desk.

The blonde woman came in again, her face as emotionless as before. She picked up the tumbler and opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again, thinking better of it. She turned sharply and left quickly, slamming the door loudly behind her. Shaw smirked before turning once again to look at the man standing by the wall, the red marks on his neck stark against his skin.

“You may leave.” The man nodded before turning to walk out. When he reached the door, Shaw spoke again from behind him.

“This is not over. Don't mess up again, Lehnsherr, or we'll see how well you do without two hands.” The man simply kept walking, closing the door behind him. He strode back down the corridor quickly, unfazed by the dim lighting.

He walked back up the stairs, sliding his hand up the railing once again. He reached the top, the light blinding him momentarily as his eyes grew adjusted to it.

He walked past the receptionist who had let him in, nodding at her quickly. She stared at the red marks that were fading from his neck, eyes wide, but made no comment, quickly turning back to her work.

The man walked out of the building, stopping briefly to look up at the sky. He turned slightly and began to walk along the gravel as he headed for the city. The light of the sun was fading slightly as it reached mid-afternoon. The man glanced back at the building once, before continuing on his way, the red marks still slightly visible on his neck.


End file.
